


Making Spirits Bright: 5 Holidays at The Loup

by sloganeer



Series: The Loup [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 5 Things, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M, derek hale is grumpy cat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-26
Updated: 2012-11-26
Packaged: 2017-11-19 14:30:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/574270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sloganeer/pseuds/sloganeer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All Stiles wanted was a green beer and someone to kiss at midnight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Making Spirits Bright: 5 Holidays at The Loup

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the Grumpy Cat Christmas card collection: http://shop.grumpycats.com

Hallowe’en

“I need your help.” Stiles spoke quietly and gestured for Laura to do the same. He had already snuck out of bed and made coffee without Derek waking. He didn’t need Laura waking him up and ruining his plans. “How do I convince him that dressing up for Hallowe’en is cool and not at all stupid?”

She shook her head. “Not gonna happen.” Her hands were wrapped around her mug, both of them huddled close in the kitchen for warmth. After every sip, Laura let out a little sigh. Stiles had both Hales wrapped around his finger.

Except that Derek had already shut down Stiles’s Hallowe’en plans. Now he had to bring in reinforcements.

“It’s not like I’m talking matching costumes. That would just be silly.” He glanced over his shoulder, checking on Derek, still in bed, still asleep. They didn’t get in until after 4. “What do you think about starting small? Could I get him to wear some cat ears without losing a hand?”

Laura laughed at the suggestion, but she was still shaking her head. “He gave up trick-or-treating even before we lost our family.” Stiles poured her more coffee and followed her out of the kitchen and to the front door. He even held her mug while she got ready to leave for work. “He wears a mask every day, Stiles. Maybe, if you want him to have fun, just let Derek be himself.”

She tied the belt around her coat tight and zipped up her tall, black boots. Laura was just as beautiful as Derek, even this early in the morning. Stiles was ready to crawl back into bed. He was wearing Derek’s boxer briefs, which barely stayed up on his hips, and a flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up so no one could see the holes in the elbows. Laura patted his cheek, but she didn’t look at him like he was a child.

“He wants to make you happy,” she said. “But don’t push him.”

One last sip of coffee, and then Laura was off to work, passing Stiles her mug and reminding him to lock the door behind her. 

He drank the rest of her coffee on his way back to Derek’s bed. He had rolled around since Stiles got up, face smushed into Stiles’s side of the pillow, and the blankets had fallen to his waist. 

Derek was never cold, even a week before the end of October in New York. Stiles was always cold. That’s why he wore wool socks to bed. Derek complained about how they scratched and made his feet itch, but Stiles argued that it was better than getting his cold toes where he didn’t want them. Derek didn’t always agree. He preferred to be the one to warm Stiles up.

This particular morning, with no work until late and no classes, Stiles climbed up on the bed, kneeled between Derek’s spread legs, and leaned over to press a kiss in the dip above his ass. He pulled the blanket down and kissed lower, deeper, where Derek smelled rich and musky and the most like himself. 

Like the two of them together. Stiles settled in, pushing Derek’s legs further apart so he could see again where he was last night. It was the first time they did that. Stiles shook his head at how that sounded, even in his head. It was the first time he fucked Derek, and Stiles wanted to do it again.

“Good morning,” Derek said, sounding sleepy, but amused. He didn’t try to buck Stiles off. He turned his head on the pillow so he could see better, but he let Stiles do what he wanted. 

“Hey, you.” He laid himself out on top of Derek, leaning over his shoulder and into a kiss, taking advantage of their new position to rub himself between Derek’s cheeks. “That was good last night, right?”

Derek made a rumbling sound that sounded like it was an affirmative. “This is good, too,” he said, pushing his hips up for more contact. 

It was good, just floating on pleasure so early in the morning, nowhere to go, except maybe towards an orgasm. Stiles sat up a little, just enough to pull his shirt off. He couldn’t get the boxers without moving more than he wanted, so he just pushed them down below his balls and pressed back into Derek, skin on skin.

Now Stiles was warm. He kissed the place where last night he sucked a mark on the back of Derek’s neck. Stiles had put it there last night, with his teeth and his tongue. It was gone now, and when Stiles ran his tongue over the spot, he couldn't even feel where his teeth had been. Stiles had already suffered weeks of Derek doing the same to him, and not always where Stiles could cover them up with his shirt or his scarf. 

He liked marking Derek, even if they didn't last. Sometimes they lasted long enough for their friends to see what Stiles was doing. Doing to Derek, the grumpiest bartender in Morningside Heights. 

“You want lube?” he asked. Stiles tore his mouth away from Derek’s neck. He was looking over his shoulder at Stiles, wrecked already and smiling like only Stiles got to see.

“Yeah,” Stiles said. “Yeah, gimme—“ 

But Derek was ready, passing him lube and a condom from God knows where. He was eager, too, pulling his knees up under himself and getting up on all fours, ready for Stiles. That was it. Stiles almost came right there.

When he pushed into Derek, they both groaned, together. When he pulled out, Derek sighed and whined for more. When he came, shooting hard and before either of them were ready, Stiles wrapped himself around Derek, and they laid on the bed on their sides, joined together, breathing in sync.

Laura was wrong. Maybe Derek had a mask then, when they first arrived in New York, scared, young, alone and clinging to each other. But that was how Stiles arrived, too, clinging to Scott, and now they knew the city, themselves a little better, and each other. Now Stiles knew Derek, and that mask slipped further every morning, like the blankets on his bed.

“So, Hallowe’en,” Stiles said.

Derek made an actual growling noise and rolled away. But Stiles knew he wasn't going very far.

-

New Year’s Eve

Derek wouldn’t switch out the jukebox for Christmas music (though all the Billy Joel has mysteriously gone missing), so Stiles had to provide the Christmas carols himself.   

"Dashing through the--"  

"No."  

"In a one horse open--"  

"No."  

"Over the hills we--"  

"No."  

"Laughing all the way."  

Here, Stiles pointed at Derek, cueing him to do the laugh. Derek refused.   

"I can withhold sex now," Stiles told him, downing the last of the champagne in his glass and holding it out for more.   

Derek loved him, so he poured the champagne. He also stared down Stiles's resolve. Fine. He would go home with Derek after the countdown, but he wouldn’t sleep with him. Maybe just a little over-the-clothes action. Maybe a blowjob, but no penetration.   

Derek didn’t look so grumpy when he smirked at Stiles over the bar, like he could see Stiles folding right there in front of him.   

"Ha. Ha. Ha."

That was how Stiles knew this New Year’s Eve would be the best New Year’s Eve. He and Lydia hustled a pair of tourists at the pool table earlier, but Stiles had spent much of the day on his stool at the end of the bar, where Derek kept topping up his champagne glass and made him taste a few new cocktails he was working on.

Now it was actually New Year’s Eve, and Stiles was already drunk. That would explain the singing. Also the way Derek’s mouth seemed to be turning up at the corners. Even his eyes were sparkling.

“You don’t look like your picture,” Stiles said, pointing his glass at Derek’s face. Derek doesn’t look, but the framed photograph Stiles gave him for Christmas is right over his shoulder. He had to enlist Scott to distract the bodega owner so Stiles could get the perfect photo, but he got it. The cat still wouldn’t let Stiles pet her, but that was OK. That was why he had Derek.

“Shut up and drink, Stiles.” Derek got called away. Boyd looked slammed, but when they started working together, setting up glasses along the bar and pouring long lines of shots, they started laughing. 

“I’m still not used to that,” Allison said, squeezing in beside Stiles at the bar. He was going to give up his stool for her, but the guy sitting next to him did it first. Maybe he thought he was getting a date out of it, or at least a midnight kiss, but Allison just gave him a cheery, “Thank you,” sat down, and turned back to Stiles.

He gave the guy a shrug, but Derek was far more interesting. He was doing his Tom Cruise bit, not exactly the full-on barman poet Stiles kept pushing for, but he put a little English on his bottles, and he always sent Stiles a not-so-subtle look.

“He’s a completely different person with you,” Allison said. She said it like that was a good thing.

“Not really.” Stiles shook his head. He played with his glass, rolling it along the bar, but he was taking a break. His head felt like it was about to float away. “He’s still grumpy. God, you should see him in the mornings.”

Allison licked her lips like she was thinking about it.

“He’s still Derek is my point.”

She watched him over the rim of her pint glass. 

“But now he’s my Derek. Which means that he smiles a little more, and he laughs, and—“

“He wears a Santa hat.”

They looked over to where Boyd and Derek were both wearing red and white Santa hats and posing together, arms around each other’s shoulders. The kids at the bar jostled for space, arms extended with their phones, trying to get photos. They were too far, but Allison pulled out her phone, too.

“That’s not my Derek,” Stiles said. “I don’t know who that Derek belongs to.”

“He’s coming back this way, Stiles. I think he belongs to you.”

She was right. Stiles was quick to gulp down the last of his champagne. It would give Derek something to do because it looked like he was about to climb over the bar and take Stiles right there on his stool. 

“That’s a good look,” he said. Derek followed his eyebrows up to the Santa hat, pulling it off and setting it on Stiles’s head instead. 

“Hey, Allison,” Derek said. “You need another beer?” Stiles would have taken a beer, too, but Derek was back before he could say anything, pouring more champagne into the glass Stiles had been nursing all day.

“You keep this up,” he said, “and I’m not going to be able to get it up tonight.” 

Derek snorted. “I’m not worried about that.” He pulled the hat down on Stiles’s head until it was snug. He rearranged it until he was happy, hands sliding down Stiles’s face to his neck, then Derek dragged him across the bar into a kiss. 

“In case I don’t get you later,” he said, walking away and taking his gorgeous mouth with him when another customer called out for a drink.

“What kind of boyfriend is that, handing out pre-emptive kisses?”

“The kind you don’t complain about, Stiles.”

Allison was right, of course. She had a habit of being right. Stiles always figured that was why she and Scott worked so well together. He loved the guy, but the bite did more than turn Scott into a werewolf. It scattered his brain. Stiles knew what that felt like. 

Scott was working right now, but in ten minutes, he was done, and in an hour and ten minutes, it would be midnight. Stiles would try to convince Derek to leave the bar to Boyd until closing. Erica had just started her shift. 

It was New Year’s Eve, and Stiles wanted Derek to take him home. Laura was still away on vacation, and the mistletoe was still hanging over Derek’s bed. 

Not that Stiles needed a reason. He didn’t even need permission.

-

Presidents Day

January disappeared in school and work and trying to find time, any time, to spend with Derek. Their schedules never seemed to match up, and Stiles was so happy Laura liked him, but he still felt weird spending so much time at their apartment. 

After a hellish week of papers, exams, and kids in the computer lab freaking out about papers and exams, Stiles was looking forward to the long weekend. He tossed a bundle of Presidents Day flyers into recycling bin the super kept below the mailboxes, and he dragged himself upstairs to fall into bed and sleep for three straight days.

Stiles woke up on the second to his phone buzzing at him. “All right,” he said, but the phone wouldn’t stop. “I’m up.” He answered the phone saying, “I’m up.”

“It’s me,” Derek said.

Now Stiles was really up. It felt like forever since he had heard Derek’s voice. “Hi,” he said. He curled up on his side, the phone between his ear and the pillow, and his hand pressed against his dick, already interested. “What’s going on?”

“I’m downstairs. Can I come up?”

“Yeah.” Stiles breathed out a long sigh. “That sounds great.”

“Are you alone?” Derek asked. Stiles swore he could hear his eyebrows. “Are you and Scott getting high again?”

He rolled off the bed to let Derek in, punching the buzzer and cracking the door open, then falling back into bed. He was so hard, and if Derek didn’t hurry up, this was all going to be over, and Stiles would be back to sleep before Derek even got off the elevator.

In the fuzzy space between sleep and orgasm, Stiles couldn’t be sure the last time Derek was over. It certainly made more sense for Derek to sleep over at Stiles’s apartment. Derek lived with his sister; Stiles lived alone. But Derek’s place was closer to the bar, and that’s how their dates tended to go. Sometimes there was breakfast at the diner. Mostly, it was just drinking and sex. Maybe a little Billy Joel if Stiles was feeling frisky and Derek wasn’t working the grumpy eyebrows.

“Jesus, Stiles.” Derek had stopped short in the doorway, eyes wide, but stuck on Stiles on his futon, naked from the waist down. He wasn’t jerking off. Derek had no reason to be scandalized. Like he hadn’t see Stiles hard before.

“I was waiting for you,” Stiles told him. He rolled off his bed again and got rid of his t-shirt in the same motion. Derek was quick to close the front door. It was a small apartment, and Stiles didn’t bother with room dividers.

“That’s what you call waiting?”

Stiles looked down at his cock, heavy and hard and pointing at Derek. “I didn’t come!”

Derek took care of that. He walked Stiles back to the bed until he fell backwards, feet still on the floor. Derek threw his leather jacket on the coffee table and unzipped his own jeans, but that was it. He got down on his knees and gave Stiles a fantastic blowjob. It wasn’t fast either, a nice long weekend blowjob that Stiles could sink into, like his fingers in Derek’s hair, soft and petting, until he came down Derek’s throat and clenched maybe a little too hard.

“Sorry,” Stiles said. He massaged Derek’s head, resting on his stomach. “But that was kind of your own fault. You’re too good at that.”

“Budge up,” Derek said, his orders slightly tempered by the way his lips tickled Stiles’s stomach. He kicked his boots off and rolled over Stiles on the bed. He was still hard inside his jeans. 

“C’mere.” Stiles liked this, being naked while Derek still had all his clothes on. His jeans were rough against Stiles’s skin, and he had to work to get his hand inside Derek’s briefs. Everything was tight and hot, Derek looked like he always did behind the bar, except his mouth was open, and he was making noises like he couldn’t stand it any longer, what Stiles was doing to him. Making noises like he wanted more. 

Stiles didn’t ask if it was good anymore. He knew Derek liked what they did together. It just got easier the longer they were together. Scott never told him how easy it could be.

He wiped his hand on the tail of the sheet hanging off the bed, then manhandled Derek into a more comfortable position. Stiles liked to sleep on his chest, and now seemed like a good time for another nap.

“You don’t want to go out?” Derek asked. His voice seemed tentative, but Stiles put it down to the afterglow. He had his hand on Stiles’s neck and was rubbing his thumb over the skin behind his ear, so Stiles knew everything was OK.

“Why would I want to move from right here?” He hitched his leg over Derek’s thigh, and Stiles rucked up his t-shirt. He played with the hair on Derek’s stomach, tracing the line up, then down in his jeans, still splayed open. 

“I thought—“ But Derek cut himself off. “Nevermind. This is fine.” Derek caught his hand and threaded them together, forcing Stiles to stop his exploring.

Everything wasn’t OK.

“You thought what?” he asked, sitting back so he could look at Derek’s face. 

“You’re not mad?”

The question made no sense. Stiles looked down where he was naked, and Derek was hanging out of his jeans, and they had both come in the last fifteen minutes. None of that added up to Stiles being mad. 

“Why would I be mad?” he asked. 

Derek’s shoulders came up around his ears. He let go of Stiles’s hand, but he was still there, heavy at the back of his neck. “I forgot Valentine’s Day,” he said. He tried to smile, but it crossed his face like a grimace.

“Oh my God, Derek. I forgot Valentine’s Day, too!” Stiles laughed. “You came over here to make it up to me, didn’t you? That’s why you’re wearing the leather jacket and your jeans that smell least like a brewery.”

When Stiles kissed him, Derek opened up again, because it was OK, they were OK, and they would get another chance at Valentine’s Day.

-

St. Patrick’s Day

All Stiles wanted was a green beer and someone to kiss at midnight.

“Wrong holiday,” Erica said, but she poured him a beer, and it only sloshed a little when she slammed it on the bar in front of him. 

It was early, not even 5, but the bar was filling up quickly. Erica had run Scott off twice already, telling him to quit gabbing and get back in the dish pit. Boyd wasn’t making a lot of cocktails today. It was all pints and shots, and they were running out of glasses faster than Scott could wash them. 

“Do you want some help back there?” Stiles asked, the next time Scott came through the swinging doors, carrying two stacked pans of glasses that he shouldn’t have been able to manage. But the bar was halfway drunk, and no one was paying attention to the scrawny kid with mysterious muscles. 

“I’m good,” Scott said, but he still stole Stiles’s beer off the bar and gulped down more than half. “Derek will be back soon.”

Stiles was only supposed to wait. Derek and Laura had a meeting at the bank, about the lease or the mortgage, he wasn’t really listening. All Stiles heard was that Derek had the night off and was taking Stiles on a date that didn’t happen at The Loup. It was an occasion even bigger than St. Patrick’s Day.

He had class in the morning, then work, and Stiles had been waiting about an hour at the bar, drinking green beer and listening to Erica and Boyd fight like maybe they were more than friends, when a loud electrical squawk pierced the air. Everything stopped, and every head turned to the back corner where someone had set up a microphone and someone else was stooped down over a tiny amp.

She had a baby blue electric guitar. Stiles didn’t know anything about guitars, but it looked cool. Once she fixed the sound, the woman leaned into the mic and said, “Hi. My name is Kath. I’m going to play a few songs for you.”

The crowd moved towards her like waves on the shore, ebbing with the music and flowing with the words. She was really good. Stiles recognized her first song right away, a Patti Smith cover.

“Since when do we have live music?” he asked Erica, leaning on the bar. Stiles tried not to look down her shirt, but he suspected that’s what she wanted.

“Boyd started an open mic night last month. Nobody’s showed up before tonight.”

“Cool.” Stiles nodded along with the music. It was just guitar and singing, but it was good. It was really good. He took another green beer from Erica and slid off his stool, wandering over to the makeshift stage where kids were already dancing and someone pulled out a lighter when Kath played “All Along the Watchtower.”

He was still there, nursing his third beer, when a strong arm wrapped around his chest and pulled him back into a wall of a body. It was too loud to say hello, so Stiles just reached up to pull Derek’s head down into his neck, scratch his fingers through Derek’s hair, and let Derek suck a hickey onto his neck in greeting.

Kath ended her set with a punk-fast version of “I’m Shipping Up To Boston” that had everyone hollering along. She said thank you and good night and was done. Stiles couldn't clap with his beer in his hand, but he put his fingers in his mouth and blew a loud whistle. 

There wasn’t anyone else to take up the mic, so the crowd went back to their tables. A pool game started up in the other corner, and Erica called out someone’s order of nachos from the kitchen. Stiles grabbed Derek’s hand and dragged him over to where Kath was packing up her stuff.

“That was a great show,” he said. She looked up, and Stiles could see that she had put green streaks through her long blonde hair. “You’re amazing.”

She said, “Thank you,” in such a small, careful voice, it was hard to believe it was the same person. 

Derek moved around Stiles, letting his hand go to wrap his other arm around Stiles’s shoulder. He wanted to be able to shake Kath’s hand. “I own this place, and you should really come back next week. We’ll pay.”

She wasn’t expecting that at all. Stiles could see how much her hands shook when she said, “Are you sure? You really want me back?”

“Do you have a CD?” Derek asked, after they shook on it, and she promised to come in to meet Laura and go over a contract. “I know Stiles is going to be singing that last one all night, and I thought I’d head him off at the pass.”

“Hey!” He jammed his elbow in Derek’s side, but Derek could take it. 

Kath got him a CD in kraft paper envelope out of her guitar case. Stiles took it from Derek’s hand. “Pay the woman,” he said. Derek dug into his pocket and found a crumpled five. He always had a few crumpled bills on him from tips. Stiles liked to make it a game, pulling the bills out of Derek’s pockets and tucking them into his underwear.

She said thank you again, and Derek reminded her to come in tomorrow afternoon. "Actually," he said. "You could go talk to her now. She's behind the bar tonight." Derek pointed Kath to Laura before they said good night. Stiles finished his beer a song and a half ago, so he needed another or he needed Derek to take him to dinner.

“Ready?” Derek asked, grabbing his leather jacket from Boyd behind the bar. “You have enough green beer from one night?”

Stiles nodded and followed him outside. Scott was still stuck in the back, but Stiles waved good night to Laura, taking a rare shift behind the bar. 

“Where are you taking me? Corned beef and cabbage tonight?”

“Oh, is that what you want?” Derek stopped, turned, and started back the way they came. Stiles grabbed his hand and dragged him back. 

“No, this way.” He wore a cardigan over a button-up, a little dressed up because Derek didn’t tell him where they were going. But it was cold, not yet spring, and Stiles wanted Derek’s arm around him again. “Where are you taking me? Seriously. You had a plan. I’m sorry.”

“We need to stop at the store to pick up some things.”

“For dinner?”

“For me to take you home and cook you dinner,” Derek said. 

Stiles reached up and grabbed Derek’s hand, the one hanging over his shoulder. He turned his head and kissed the palm. “That sounds perfect,” he said, and he sang all the way home.

\- 

Fourth of July

Fourth of July in Beacon Hills was his dad’s steaks, Mrs. McCall’s potato salad, Scott trying to convince one of the deputies to let them shoot off some of the confiscated fireworks (“Just one?”), and Stiles staying up all night on the roof of the house, watching the stars through the dissipating smoke.

In New York, the first time he had decided to stay in the city for the summer, Stiles got the drunkest he had ever been on the Fourth of July. He wouldn’t remember, but Derek would tell him the next morning that he and Erica had a dance-off on the bar, that he tried to juggle three bottles of Kings County bourbon, that he sang Billy Joel’s Allentown before Boyd let Derek take him home.

“Do I remember some dude setting up a hibachi outside the bar yesterday?” He wasn’t ready to get out of bed, but Stiles could hear Derek breathing, probably reading in the red plaid armchair Allison found for twenty bucks in a thrift shop and Scott carried all the way back to Stiles’s apartment. Derek had pulled the chair across the room and had his feet on the bed, where he could keep his eye on Stiles.

“I’m surprised you remember anything from yesterday.”

“I have this lingering smell of hamburgers.” He poked his nose out of the blankets and sniffed the air. “Did you make breakfast?”

“You can have some dry toast. I don’t trust you to keep anything else right now.”

Stiles groaned, but Derek was right. His head hurt, his eyes hurt, his chest hurt, and his mouth tasted disgusting. That’s when Stiles remembered throwing up. He didn’t remember if he made it to the bathroom or not. 

"Don't I get greasy food and hot coffee for hangover?"

Derek’s voice was further away when he said, “How about some tea? I thought I saw some herbal stuff in here last time.”

“Thank you,” Stiles said instead of yes. He counted to three, told himself very sternly to get up, then threw the blanket to the floor to make himself get out of bed and go pee. He brushed his teeth, then figured he’d go for broke and shower, too. 

Derek had a plate of toast and a steaming mug on the bedside table when Stiles got out of the bathroom. He was drinking from his own mug, and Stiles could smell that it was coffee. 

“I love you,” Stiles said. “Get back into bed with me?”

He got back under the covers and watched as Derek tried to get his jeans off one-handed without giving up his coffee. Stiles made space for him, held up the blanket, and curled up into Derek sitting back against the wall. He dropped crumbs all over them eating his toast, and Derek didn’t complain at all.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles said, his mouth still full. “Was yesterday awful? I don’t even know why I drank so much.”

“It wasn’t awful.” Derek dragged his fingers through Stiles’s hair. He hadn’t grown it this long in years, but he was really liking how much Derek was liking it. “But maybe we don’t have to hang out at the bar so much.”

“Oh my God, Derek.” Stiles pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. Now he knew what everyone meant by, Stiles, you’re being loud. “I don’t have a drinking problem,” he whispered. 

“You have some kind of problem.”

“Maybe I have a boyfriend problem.”

Derek’s fingers stopped moving. 

“I’m kidding,” Stiles said. “Kidding.” He kissed Derek where he could reach him, the soft skin over the hard muscles of his abs. He ran a finger over the trail of hair from his belly button to his briefs. It was very nearly Stiles’s favorite place to be. 

“Are you going to throw up again?” Derek asked. He put his hand over Stiles’s, stopping him before he could sneak any further into Derek’s briefs.

“Really? That’s what you’re asking me when I’m trying to give you a blowjob?”

“I’d like to know before you puke your toast and tea all over me again.”

Stiles pushed himself up to his knees, straddling Derek’s hips and settling onto his lap. “Again?”

“Well, it was a street burger yesterday, and it was all over my shoes, but the gist is still something I’d like to avoid.”

He leaned his forehead against Derek’s shoulder. Stiles laughed because he couldn’t help himself. “Why would you let me eat food from some stranger’s hibachi? Especially after everything I drank yesterday?” He put his hands on Derek’s neck and kissed him, a careful touch of lips before pulling back again.

“You really wanted that burger.” Derek shrugged. 

“I really love you,” Stiles said. When they kissed the second time, Stiles let it go longer. He licked into Derek’s mouth, tasting the coffee and peppermint together, but it was nice because it was Derek. Derek’s hands on Stiles’s back, twisting in his shirt until Stiles pulled away so they could pull it off. 

“Wait,” he said. He dragged his mouth away from Derek’s, feeling awful as he watched Derek lean in, try to chase him down for another kiss. “I’m hungry.”

Derek snorted. “Fine. Let me fuck you, then I’ll buy you waffles.”

“I kind of really want pretzels.”

“Right now?” Derek rolled his eyes. He pushed Stiles off his lap and leaned over the side of the bed, trying to find his pants.

Stiles looked around for some clothes, too. “I don’t know. These things happen.”

“Only to you, Stiles.”

They didn’t have to go far, just the bodega across the street, so Stiles pulled on the first thing he found on the floor: a pair of green basketball shorts and a tank top that was probably Derek’s. It showed off an indecent amount of nipple on Stiles.

“Let’s go,” Derek said, swinging Stiles’s house keys in his hand and locking the door behind them. 

The air outside was sticky. This was his first New York summer. Stiles didn’t know it would be so bad. Derek tried to put his arm around Stiles’s shoulders like always, but Stiles wriggled away. Without the fan in his apartment, it was too much. 

“Sorry,” he said and reached for Derek’s hand instead.

Stiles’s favorite cat was awake and stalking around the store. Derek nearly stepped on her in the chips and snack foods aisle. 

“Hey, Grumpy,” Stiles said, crouching down to scratch her head. She still didn’t like him much, but she let him touch her now. Stiles had experience with grumpy cats now.

Derek wandered ahead, grabbing pretzels for Stiles, his own favorite Ranch Doritos, and a jar of the orange cheese dip that Stiles had never eaten until he licked it off of Derek’s fingers. “What else?” Derek asked. 

Stiles shook his head clear of all inappropriate thoughts, walking past Derek to the refrigerator cases at the back of the store. He grabbed a two liter of Coke and a six-pack of beer.

“What do you think about a second run at the Fourth of July?” Stiles asked, leading Derek back to the counter. There were sparklers in a jar, on sale for a buck. Stiles bought three packs. 

They sat on the fire escape with their legs hanging down, pretzels and chips and dip between them. Stiles drank Coke out of a mug because that was all that was clean and that was all he could handle. Derek sat behind him and rubbed his temples until Stiles’s head didn’t hurt anymore. He lit the sparklers with his Zippo, and Stiles wrote “I love you” in the dark.

“What do you think about staying forever?” Stiles asked. 

Derek said, “OK.”

It took most of the summer, on weekends and rare days off, when Boyd wasn’t working, when Scott could drag himself away from Allison to help carry boxes. Derek was officially moved in by Labor Day.


End file.
